


She Walks Alone (Into the Darkness)

by LittleSinisterMe



Series: Learning to Be [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dursleys being shitty, Female Harry Potter, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Magically Sensitive Harry Potter, McGonagall delivers Hari's letter not Hagrid, Slytherin Harry Potter, but not too op, creative liberties in general, creative liberties with hogwarts letters, like always, more characters and tags to be added later, unlike some fics i could mention (side eye emoji)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-02-23 00:53:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23869741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSinisterMe/pseuds/LittleSinisterMe
Summary: She’s not quite nine years old when she reads her first fiction book outside of class, a book about a hobbit and a ring and a wizard.~Hariel Potter didn't grow up in the wizarding world but that doesn't mean she never learned about magic, or how to use it to her advantage against the muggles who wanted to stomp it out of her.
Series: Learning to Be [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1771426
Comments: 95
Kudos: 519





	1. Ante: Part 1

Hariel doesn’t remember the first time her uncle hit her. For a long time, it was simply a constant in her life. The sky is blue, her eyes are green, Uncle Vernon’s fists hurt. 

She _does_ remember the last time he hit her. She remembers the pain, remembers deciding _no more._ Remembers glaring up at him, remembers his mustache catching fire, spreading to his hair, saying _i can stop it. i can stop it - but i wont._

He screams and screams, the way she had when she was younger, still a child in mind as well as body, threatens her, pleads with her to make it stop.

She doesn’t.

(she’s not a child anymore.)

(she remembers aunt petunia running into the room screeching and trying to put the fire out with her hand towel.

uncle vernon’s moustache never did grow back.)

~

Hariel doesn’t know how she caught Uncle Vernon’s facial hair on fire. After, when she was locked back up in her cupboard, she tries again. She wills the hair of her stolen-from-dudleys-throw-away-pile troll doll to catch fire. It works. It works and suddenly the fire is spreading but

( _i can stop it. i can stop it - but i wont_ )

she stops it before it can begin to melt the plastic. 

(she begins to practice. she practices every night until she has it completely in her control, until she can set something on fire without it spreading, without it burning, until she can hold it in her hand and breathe it out of her mouth, until she _is it_.)

(a sly sort of smile slowly spreads across her face.)

~

Before, Hariel spent most of her time in the house doing chores, or in the garden, tending to Aunt Petunia’s prize winning marigolds and garden bushes. 

After, Hariel spent more time out of the house. Still in the garden, yes, but only because it was the one chore she had enjoyed. She’d made friends with Privet Drive’s den of snakes

(and boy, wasn’t that a surprise, the first time she almost stepped on a snake and it hissed at her to _watch where you’re stepping, you useless lump_ and when she had _hissed_ back a quiet apology.

and by now she had spoken to every snake who regularly spent time in or lived around privet drive. she knew their life stories, preferred prey, and the best spots to lounge in the sun)

and she enjoyed chatting with them as she worked with the plants. She also spent a lot of time at the library down the street from her school. 

The first time she’d walked in, wearing dirty second-hand clothes bought cheap from the thrift shop near the grocery store, the nearest librarian looked her up and down and then looked her straight in the eyes as she sneered.

(hariel learned early on that appearances were important. the way she looked, the way she held herself- it all played into people’s perception of her.)

A younger librarian, seated at another desk further down, took in the sight of her and offered to help her find whatever she was looking for, and maybe a snack from the vending machine, if there was anything she was partial to?

(she learned how to use perception to her advantage)

~

Over the next few years, Hariel spent her days in school, her afternoons in the library, and her evenings in the garden. 

At school, she paid attention, did her work, and kept her head down. In previous years, had she gotten better scores than Dudley, her grades would result in pain. Now, 

(after they’d threatened her again and uncle vernon had tried to hit her again and she’d set him on fire again) 

she was free to do as she pleased. To the bafflement of her teachers, she quickly climbed the ranks within the classroom. Some tried to accuse her of cheating, but she spoke to no one and spent time with none of her classmates outside of the school, so they were clueless as to who would have helped her.

(just because she had been getting lower marks than dudley doesn't mean she didn’t pay attention in class. it just meant she had to decide what assignments to do and which ones she could skip.

to be fair, she only skipped the boring ones.)

(most of them were boring. if it only meant less pain for her in the long run, well, who was she to complain?)

At the library, she read anything that caught her fancy. Books about plants and science and maths, books on languages and cultures and history, books on creatures and monsters and _magic_.

She’s not quite nine years old when she reads her first fiction book outside of class, a book about a hobbit and a ring and a wizard. 

Hariel is not stupid nor is she oblivious so she’s realized that no one else can do what she can with her fire. She can do things others can’t. The more she thinks about it, the more she remembers instances

(that time she ended up on the roof after dudley and piers chased her around the playground

that time she turned her teacher’s hair blue

that time aunt petunia gave her an awful bob cut and her long dark curls grew back overnight like they were never gone

every time she talks to a snake)

where she’d done things that were unexpected from a normal girl.

So she reads and these books give her the idea that she can do _more_. She reads more fiction, reads more about magic done by wizards and mages and creatures, magic that can do anything as long as she knows how to use it. 

She teaches herself how to use it. She uses these books, the books she knows are not real, the books that contain stories and worlds that are different from hers, and she teaches herself. Most of the wizards in her stories use words and wands and other magical objects but she doesn’t have anything to use. All she has is her will, and in the end - it’s enough.

By the time she’s ten she knows how to do all sorts of impossible things

(how to unlock her cupboard door and muffle her sound so she can sneak out and get late night snacks or meals

how to put fire-less heat into her thin mattress and holey blanket and lumpy pillow to keep her warm at night during the winter

how hide herself from sight so when dudley decides to go harri hunting, she can stand right in front of him and he won’t see her)

just by willing them to happen. At first, using her magic makes her tired, makes her weak. She doesn’t let it show and she continues to practice and she gets stronger and these days only the new things she tries affect her.

In her garden,

(she doesn’t remember when she decided it was _her_ garden, but she’s the only one who ever works in it, even if aunt petunia does claim the credit for her work, so she thinks she’s earned the right)

she speaks with her snakes and she tends to her flowers and she learns that if she pushes her magic into the plants they grow faster and stronger and _prettier_ , almost like she’s breathing life into them.

(aunt petunia claims all the credit at her annual garden party but later she threatens hariel that if next year’s flowers aren’t as good as this year’s, then she’ll be locked in her cupboard for a week.

it’s the closest she’s ever gotten to being complimented by her family.)

~

The years pass and suddenly it’s a week before her eleventh birthday and she’s got mail. Actual mail, addressed to her,

(miss h. potter

the cupboard under the stairs,

little whinging

surry)

and she has a brief moment of panic before she crushes it and stuffs the letter into her pocket, patting the outside to make sure it's not visible. She hands Uncle Vernon the rest of the post like nothing is wrong, 

(like she didn’t get her own letter. like this isn’t the first time she’s ever gotten mail.)

(like there’s not someone out there who knows she sleeps in a cupboard.)

and continues into the kitchen to make herself some toast and goes about her day like normal. It’s summer break, so she waters her garden and then visits the library where she enters a hidden alcove and takes the letter out and stares at it. 

(they know where she _sleeps_ , and damn if she doesn’t know how to feel about that.)

She opens the envelope and carefully pulls out the leafs of thick, heavy paper

(parchment, she learns later)

and reads the words written in green ink, inviting her to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,

(she’s a _witch_ )

where she can learn new magic and, according to her supplies list, potions and history and _plants_.

The third page contains directions to a place called Diagon Alley where she can buy her supplies

(for _hogwarts_ , a school of _magic_ )

as well as Kings Cross Station and Platform 9 ¾, where the train will pick students up at the start of term.

The final page is a acceptance contract with the words _We await your owl by no later than 31st July._

They await her owl.

She didn’t have an owl.

She had no way of contacting them at all.

Her excitement

(she could get away from the dursleys, she wouldn't ever have to be in pain ever again, she could learn magic, she could be with people who were _like her_ )

dropped as she realized that she couldn’t attend this school. She had no way of getting to London to meet people like her, unless she asked Aunt Petunia to take her, which she never would. 

She left the library dejected, went back to the Dursley’s to work her frustration out by ripping weeds out of the ground in her garden and to rant to the local snakes about how _unfair_ it was that she wouldn’t be able to attend this incredible school.

She waited until she was in her cupboard for the night, until there was no movement coming from upstairs, and she cried for the first time since she was a child.

(she’s not a child anymore)

~

But the letters don’t stop. 

The next morning, as Hariel is cooking the bacon,

(not burning it, never burning it)

Aunt Petunia comes into the kitchen flipping through the pile of mail. It’s almost comical, the way she freezes mid step and her porcelain face turns whiter than a sheet. She whips her head around to stare at Harri, who stares back while still turning the bacon, before she hurries over to have a whispered argument with Uncle Vernon, who turns a darker shade of purple than an eggplant.

“GIRL!” he roars, stomping over to her, _“What is the meaning of this?”_ He shoves the letter in her face.

She pulls back to actually see the front of the letter

(miss h. potter

the cupboard under the stairs,

little whinging

surry)

before widening her eyes in surprise like she hasn’t already seen it and snatches it from his hand, dancing out from under his arm and ripping it open before he has a chance to steal it back. The contents haven’t changed.

She looks from Uncle Vernon to Aunt Petunia and she realizes that they _knew._ They knew and they _kept it from her._

“What is this?” she demands, glaring between them. “Is this some sort of joke?”

Uncle Vernon takes a step in her direction and suddenly

(suddenly she’s five years old

suddenly she’s a kid again

suddenly she remembers pain and terror and the knowledge that no help is coming - )

suddenly his hair is on fire. It’s not actually burning him, but Aunt Petunia shrieks and Uncle Vernon yells and she commands, “One of you is going to tell me what this means or I’ll set him on fire for real.”

Uncle Vernon finally realizes the fire isn’t hurting him and pushes Aunt Petunia’s hands away from his head and he growls, “End this right now and then your cupboard for a week.”

She stares at him coolly and then lets him burn.

~

An hour later, she’s locked in her cupboard and the rest of her family is leaving to take Uncle Vernon to the hospital for burn treatments. She listens as they drive away and lays in her dark cupboard, where the only light is what seeps through the grate at the bottom of the door. She lays on her thin mattress with her holey blanket and her lumpy pillow and she doesn’t think. She listens to the tick tick tick of the grandfather clock in the hall and she stares at the cobwebs in the corner and she does not think.

She doesn’t think about the letter. She doesn’t think about magic. She doesn’t think about a whole society of magic users. She doesn’t think about how her Aunt and Uncle _kept her from it_ \- 

She doesn’t think.

Her aunt, uncle, and cousin have been gone for hours by the time she finally moves. She pushes magic into the sliding lock and slips out of her cupboard. She didn’t receive food this morning and she lost her meals yesterday for mouthing off to Aunt Petunia, so it’s been almost forty hours since she’s eaten. She’s gone longer than that without food before, but she doesn’t know how long her Uncle is going to keep her locked up for this time so she figures she should get something before they return and she won’t have to wait until she’s lightheaded and dizzy. Aunt Petunia hadn’t put away the breakfast materials before they’d left, so she nabs some cold but perfectly cooked bacon and a couple slices of bread from the table and eats quickly, but slowly enough that she won’t be sick. She swipes a bruised apple and an almost overripe banana and heads back to her cupboard to eat. She eats the bacon and toast but hides the fruit under her spare set of clothes so she’ll have something for later.

It’s not too much later that her family returns home, but she remains in her cupboard, ignored and alone.

~

Another letter comes the next day.

She knows because she hears Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon arguing about it in the kitchen. They whisper-yell about the address, about how they know where she sleeps, about how they should have just thrown her out years ago. They argue about what to do. Aunt Petunia says they should write back and tell them she’s not interested. Uncle Vernon believes that if they just ignore them they’ll go away. They continue arguing but they move farther away and she can no longer make out their conversation.

That afternoon, Uncle Vernon leaves for a short time and comes back only to head upstairs and do what sounds like some sort of construction in the hallway. She listens to the power drill and idly wonders what he’s doing up there but can’t really bring herself to care. 

Until her cupboard door is wretched open and Aunt Petunia orders her, “Up! Get up! Grab your bedding and clothes and come!” 

Hariel scrambles to her feet, yanking her pillow and her blanket, as well as her single pair of holey shoes and extra set of clothing into her arms. She carefully wraps the clothes around her contraband fruit so Aunt Petunia doesn’t see it and she follows her aunt upstairs. She’s shoved into Dudley’s second bedroom, whose door now has an additional three deadbolts as well as a sliding latch attached where there had been none before. 

“You’ll be staying here from now on,” her aunt informs her stiffly. “You’ll not be leaving for a week except to use the bathroom once a day. No more funny business, or it’ll be two weeks and you’ll receive no food during that time.” Aunt Petunia slams the door shut and Hariel listens as all four locks slide into place. She turns into the room and looks around. 

There’s a wardrobe that’s seen better days, with one of the doors tilted slightly off kilter, like it’d been yanked open too hard and pulled from the hinges and then fixed improperly. She pokes around inside and finds older clothes that no longer fit Dudley, but would probably fit her semi decently. Better than her current castoffs anyway.

The twin bed has seen better days, with a ripped mattress that actually looks better than her mattress in her cupboard. The wooden bed frame is broken, two of the vertical boards at the head of the bed jutting out, with edges sharp enough to draw blood. 

A desk is shoved into the corner, bending slightly under the intense weight of the pile of old toys that have been shoved there after Dudley grew bored with them or broke them. There’s a camera with a missing flash, set upon set of legos with missing pieces, torn children’s picture books. On the shelf above the desk sits an empty bird cage, from two years previous when Aunt Petunia had bought Dudley a parrot. Less than a week after he got it, he took it to school with him where he exchanged it with Piers Polkiss in return for a DS3, which now has a crack running through the top screen. 

She sets her things down on her new bed, sighs, and gets to work.

By the time she goes to bed, the wardrobe doors hang straight, the bed frame is mostly fixed, the rip in the mattress has sewn itself shut again, and most of Dudley’s broken junk is shoved into the empty drawers of the desk and wardrobe. She’s discovered a loose floorboard and has hidden her forbidden fruit. She found a hole-less bedsheet in the back of the wardrobe to use as a blanket. She has enough room to stretch her legs in the bed.

She falls asleep, more content than she’s been in years.


	2. Ante: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hariel receives a visit and the experience of a life time.

~

It’s a couple of days later when she wakes up at the crack of dawn, as her body has been conditioned to do since she was young. She hears Aunt Petunia moving around in the bathroom before going downstairs to start on breakfast. She falls back asleep for a while but wakes again when Dudley thunders his way down the stairs. She listens as her family gets ready for their day and ignores the slight grumbling of her stomach as the smell of bacon wafts up through the vents. 

The digital clock she fixed last night slowly ticks the minutes by until it’s 8 am. 

There’s a loud crack in the street. Hariel scrambles out of bed and over to the window in time to see a sharply dressed woman turn into the driveway from the sidewalk. She loses sight of her as she approaches the door, but hears the ensuing knocking from her room. She bolts across the room and presses her ear against the crack to try and hear what’s being said, but the woman isn’t talking loud enough for her to clearly make out the conversation until she hears Aunt Petunia say sharply, “She doesn’t want to go to your school of freaks,” and she knows they’re talking about her. About Hogwarts.

She presses her head harder against the door and hears the woman say, “I would like to talk to her personally, Petunia.” She hears movement and then the door slamming. She scrambles back from the door as Aunt Petunia storms up the stairs. Hariel jumps up on her bed, making it look like she hasn’t moved yet as Aunt Petunia unlocks the door. 

“There’s a woman here to see you. You’ll tell her you’re not interested and then you’ll be right back up here. Come.”

Hariel nods and climbs back out of bed, following her aunt back down the stairs and into the living room where she stops short of the doorway. She stares in disbelief as a floating teapot pours steaming tea into two floating teacups. 

“Please take a seat, Miss Potter. Would you like honey or sugar with your tea?”

Her eyes snap to the woman from the street as her body moves automatically to do what she’s been told. She sits across from the woman in one of Aunt Petunia’s hideous floral print armchairs and shakes her head at the offer. One of the teacups floats over to her and she takes it gently from the air. She doesn’t sip it. The woman notices.

The woman clears her throat quietly and introduces herself, “Good morning, Miss Potter. I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I’ve come today to ask you if you’ve been receiving our letters.” She frowns. “We’ve yet to receive a response regarding your attendance.”

Hariel glances at her aunt out of the corner of her eye. Aunt Petunia is still standing in the doorway, glaring furiously at Professor McGonagall. 

“I have received your invitation, but I’m afraid I had no way to respond. It says to respond by owl, but I have no owl to send a letter with."

The professor’s frown deepens. “Could you not have sent a letter using the public post located in Diagon Alley? They send Hogwarts response letters for free.” 

She stares at the woman across from her. “I have never been to Diagon Alley as I have no way of getting to London on my own.”

Professor McGonagall looks at her and then glances behind her to Aunt Petunia, who has turned a peculiar shade of purple. “I see. I apologize, Miss Potter. I had thought that your relatives would have introduced you to our world already. It seems I was mistaken.” 

Hariel makes a noise of agreement but otherwise stays silent. If she opens her mouth, she’s not sure what might come out so she keeps it shut. Professor McGonagall peers at her for a moment before saying, “Petunia, dear, would you be so kind as to give us a moment of privacy?” It was phrased as a question. It was very clearly not a question.

Aunt Petunia makes a rude noise but leaves all the same and some of the tension in Hariel’s body eases. The Professor’s lips thin for a moment and Hariel finally notices the stick

(the wand)

in her hand as she flicks it. 

“There. I’ve cast a privacy ward so we can talk freely. As I said, it’s clear that Petunia has not introduced you to your heritage, as I’d previously assumed. If you don’t mind my asking, could you relay to me what your dear aunt has told you about your parents and family?”

Her back stiffens. “Aunt Petunia has told me many times that my parents were jobless, layabout drunks who died in a car crash,” 

( _and that I should be grateful that she was even willing to take me in and waste valuable money on feeding and clothing me)_

she says flatly. 

Professor McGonagall’s eyes flash. “I assure you, Miss Potter, that your parents were neither jobless nor layabout drunks who died in an automobile accident. Your father was quite a renowned Auror and politician within our Ministry, and your mother had been undergoing her mastery in charms work and spell creation at the time of her death. Is that all she has seen fit to tell you?”

Hariel nods, “Yes, Professor.”

“I see. Well. I suppose I should catch you up on all the information Petunia has failed to provide you with, hmm?” She leans back in her armchair, peering at Hariel down her nose. She resists the urge to shift and keeps her hands still and her back straight.

“You, Miss Potter, are a witch, as I’m sure you’ve gathered thus far. I am here to invite you to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the premier school of magic in the British Isles. I teach Transfiguration and operate as the Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House. I understand you have been unable to respond, but have you read your invitation letter?” Hariel nods. “Good. Then you have a basic understanding of what the school entails. It is a boarding school, and you would be apart from your family for nine months out of the year, but your parents have already paid your tuition. All I need from you is an answer of whether or not you would like to join us in September.”

Nine months away from the Dursleys? _Nine?_

She knows her answer before the professor even finishes her spiel.

Aunt Petunia’s order to send the professor away rings in her ears.

“I would love to attend your school, Professor.”

Professor McGonagall nods firmly, and waves her wand again. The tea set on the table as well as the still full cup in her hands disappear. Hariel freezes in surprise and sees the professor hide a smile as she stands. “Give me a moment to speak with your Aunt Petunia and I will take you to Diagon Alley to buy your school supplies. If there’s anything you would like to bring with you, you can run up and retrieve it and meet me in the front hall.” 

“Professor,” Hariel says quietly, not meeting her eyes. “I don’t think I have enough money to buy all the supplies on the list. Is there somewhere I could take out a loan in order to pay-” she cuts off abruptly as Professor McGonagall sighs sharply. 

She mutters something vaguely unflattering under her breath before addressing Hariel once again. “Miss Potter, I apologize. Of course Petunia did not- no matter. Do not worry about a loan. Your father’s family- well. Let’s just say they were quite well off. Our first order of business will be to stop into Gringotts Bank to make a withdrawal from your trust fund. There will be plenty there to cover the costs of your school supplies for this year, and quite possibly the rest of your Hogwart’s career. If you’ll excuse me, I will speak with your aunt and then explain more once we reach Wizarding London.” She steps out into the hallway and Hariel hears her move into the kitchen, where she can now hear Aunt Petunia doing the dishes. 

Her body moves on autopilot up the stairs to her room. She finds her school backpack from where she stashed it in the back of the closet and pulls out the plastic baggie at the bottom, holding all of the money she has. Almost thirty pounds, made up of mostly change and a few bills stolen from the kitchen counter when there’s no one around to see them go missing. She takes out her normal school supplies and hides them in the loose floorboard so Dudley doesn’t come in to ruin them while she’s gone. She tucks the money baggie back into the bigger bag. She slings it over her shoulder and closes her door behind her quietly. 

Professor McGonagall is waiting in the front hall so Hariel hurries down the stairs. The professor’s face tightens as she watches Hariel stuff her feet into running shoes a size too small, with holes around her big toes and pinky toes.

She leads Hariel out of the house and down the street to the corner before turning to look at her. “The magical population has quite a few methods of travel. Today I will be transporting the both of us using Apparation. I’ve had quite a few muggle-born students compare it to teleportation. Are you aware of this concept?” Hariel nods. “Good. If you’ll take my arm please, yes just like that. Hold on tight and do not let go. First time Apparation travelers often find it discomforting and it will take some getting used to. Are you ready?” Hariel nods again. “Very well.”

One moment, they were on the corner of Privet Drive, and the next they were standing on a busy street in central London. Hariel swayed sideways, unbalanced and nearly sick. Professor McGonagall firmly kept hold of her arm and held her up while she regained her senses. 

She did not like Apparation. At all. 

“I’ve brought us to the outside of Magical London so you will know how to enter from Muggle London in the future. This is the Leaky Cauldron.” Professor McGonagall guides her to a dingy looking pub. She pulls open the door and moves aside to let Hariel enter first. The interior of the pub is also somewhat dark and dingy, but it has a cozy feel to it that she wouldn’t have expected from the outside. “The Leaky Cauldron is the only entrance to Magical London from Muggle London,” Professor McGonagall continued from behind her. She places a hand on Hariel’s back and guides her across the pub to a door in the opposite corner. “It links Leadenhall Street to Diagon Alley.” Hariel enters the alley behind the pub and is briefly befuddled. It looks like any other alley in London.

Until Professor McGonagall taps her wand against the wall.

The bricks begin to rumble and fall away like water as an archway appears in front of them.

The sight in front of her was incredible. She stares, stunned, as witches and wizards hurried past the archway, in a rush to get here or there, going in and out of wildly strange shops that lined the street in front of her.

“Welcome to Diagon Alley, Miss Potter.”

It was a dream come true. Professor McGonagall pulls her along as she gapes in amazement. She hears rumbling from behind them and twists to watch the archway disappear once more. 

She lets the professor pull her along blindly as they walk down the street, swinging her head around to try and take it all in. She catches snippets of conversation here and there, from a witch haggling outside of an apothecary,

(“sixteen sickles an ounce for dragons’ liver? are you mad?”)

from some teens with their noses pressed against a display window, 

(“-the new nimbus two thousand-” “they say it's the fastest ever-”)

and a young girl outside the ice cream shop.

(“please, daddy? i want to try the new butterbeer flavor!”)

They pass shops of all kinds; an apothecary, a few different book stores, a clothing retailer, a pet shop with several owls in the window. 

Finally they reach the end of the street and Hariel turns to face the tall marble building in front of them.

“This is Gringotts Bank. Unlike most of the rest of Magical London, Gringotts is run by goblins as opposed to human witches and wizards. Be polite to them and they will be polite to you.” She points to an engraving on the door ahead of them. “Read this and pay attention. Offending the goblins rarely ends well.”

She squints toward the door as they approach it, reading the warning posted there.

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn._

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there._

They were entering the building proper before she had much time to reflect on the warning, but she briefly wonders what the bank has hidden in their depths.

Professor McGonagall guides them to a teller and waits for them to acknowledge her. Hariel stares at the strange creature on the other side of the counter. Goblins, the professor had said. Finally, the goblin looks up from his paperwork.

“Yes?”

“Good morning. We would like to make a withdrawal from the Potter trust vault.”

“Key?”

Professor McGonagall withdraws a slim key from a pocket in her dress and slides it across the counter. The goblin examines it closely before hopping down from his chair and moving around the counter, gesturing for them to follow him. He leads them to an archway and to another goblin.

“Griphook will take you to your vault,” he grunts.

The other goblin, Griphook, leads them to a railway heading down into deep, dark caverns. He climbs into a cart and holds out his hand to assist Hariel as she climbs in behind him. Once Professor McGonagall is in the cart and all three of them are seated, Griphook pulls a lever on a control system of some sort. She looks at it interestedly but none of the other levers or buttons are labeled and she’s quickly distracted by the cart jerking forward.

The cart ride is the most fun she’s had in years. She has, of course, seen advertisements for amusement parks with fast roller coasters. Though she’s never been to a park or gone on a roller coaster, she imagines it would be much like this. 

The cart isn’t moving too fast, but still quickly enough that her hair whips around and behind her head. They fly past seemingly endless amounts of vault doors, deep caverns, and in one case, a burst of fire from- was that a _dragon?_

She twists to try and see it again, but they’ve already left the cave behind. She faces forward again as Griphook pushes a button on the controls. The cart begins to slow enough that she can see the numbers on the vaults now, _693… 691… 689…_

Griphook pulls a lever and the cart jerks to a stop before vault 687. Griphook pulls himself out of the cart and once again holds out his hand to help Hariel. She accepts his assistance and hands him the lantern when he requests it from her. Once Professor McGonagall has stepped out of the cart after them, the group moves toward the vault door.

Hariel accepts the lantern back from him when he holds it out for her, and he thrusts his hand in the professor’s direction, with a demanding, “Key?”

Professor McGonagall hands over Hariel’s key and Griphook shifts some of the intricate metal locking mechanisms to reveal a keyhole. Hariel watches as the vault unlocks, the mechanisms clanging and moving as the door swings open.

Hariel feels her eyes widen as her jaw drops. 

All this time, all ten years that Hariel has lived with her aunt, has she been told that her parents were poor and worthless and jobless. That Hariel in turn was poor and worthless, because why would the Dursleys waste any more of their money on her than they have to? 

But here, sitting before her, in her _trust vault_ , is piles and piles and _piles_ of gold, silver, and bronze. She has no idea how money works in the magical world but the amount of precious metal in this vault has to be worth tens, if not hundreds of thousands of British pounds.

Beside her, Professor McGonagall pulls out a small velvet pouch. 

“Here you are. You’ll want to take enough to purchase all your school supplies and some extra to have if you need to owl order extra supplies throughout the year.” She peers at Hariel down her nose. “The big golden coins are galleons, the silver ones are sickles, and the tiny bronze coins are knuts. The pouch has an expansion charm on it, so fill it up and you’ll have plenty for your supplies.”

Hariel takes the pouch from her and tentatively steps forward to fill the bag. The gold coins, galleons, are heavy but they also seem to be worth the most so she takes more of those than the other two coins. When the pouch is full, she steps back and looks up to Professor McGonagall. Her professor nods sharply and they watch as Griphook locks the vault. He hands her her key and she drops it into the pouch with her coins so it doesn’t fall out of her pocket. 

The ride back up to the bank is as exhilarating as the ride down to her vault. Once they reach the top, Hariel tentatively asks, “Griphook? Would it be possible to get a bank statement? I would like to know how much I have so I can budget it and not spend it all.” 

He grunts and says, “Follow me.” As he’s leading them over to the tellers’ counter, she peaks up at Professor McGonagall, who’s proudly looking down at her. She feels slightly more confident with her decision to ask about the statement.

As Griphook moves behind the counter to draw up her papers, a loud voice behind them booms, “Professor McGonagall!”

Hariel turns, looking up, and then continues looking up when the man’s face is far higher than she expected.

“Hagrid,” Professor McGonagall greets stiffly. “Miss Potter, this is Rubeus Hagrid, groundskeeper at Hogwarts.”

“Potter? Not little Harri?” Hagrid grins down at her from behind his bushy beard.

She smothers her frown and instead smiles up at him and nods politely.

“Well I’ll be. Been almost ten years since I seen yeh last, lassie. You was only a babe then, so yeh prob’ly don’t remember.”

She shakes her head. “No, sir.”

Hagrid beams at her. “So polite! But there’s no need fer that ‘sir,’ Harri, Hagrid’ll do just fine!”

She gives him a grin and says, “Okay, Hagrid!”

He’s still grinning down at her as he pulls out a pocket watch and checks the time. “Blimey! I better get going, I’m on an impor’ant mission from Professor Dumbledore.” He meets Professor McGonagall’s eyes. “Pickin’ up the you-know-what in vault seven hundred and thirteen.”

From the corner of her eye, Hariel sees Professor McGonagall visibly struggle not to roll her eyes. Hagrid doesn’t seem to notice.

“I’ll be off then! I’m headed straight back to Hogwarts after I leave here, but you should come see me for a pot of tea when yeh get to the castle, Harri! I got some pictures of yer parents layin’ around somewhere, I can dig ‘em out and show ‘em to yeh!”

Hariel nods eagerly. “I’d love to!” she says, and she’s not even lying. She’s never seen pictures of her parents before - she doesn’t even know what they look like or if she looks anything like them. She, in all her dark haired and bright eyes and tanned skin, looked nothing like her aunt and cousin, both blonde and fair and dull.

Hagrid beams, delighted at her eagerness, and exclaims, “That’s a lass! I’ll see yeh come September then.”

She grins back and waves as he leaves. When she turns back, Professor McGonagall is turning away from Griphook with a stack of papers. Leaning down, she explains, “Your statement and your vault stipulations. You’re allowed the withdrawal of 1,500 galleons a year, which is plenty enough for your yearly supplies.” Hariel accepts the papers from her and carefully folds them into her pocket to read through later.

Professor McGonagall straightens. “Now, shall we move on to the shopping? We have quite a bit to get through today so we best start early.” 

Hariel nods, suddenly eager to explore the bustling alley outside. She thanks Griphook for his time and follows her professor to the doors, dodging goblins and other customers as she goes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow okay this is really late, I apologize. Things have been kinda chaotic lately, I moved and then started summer classes, and then started working again so a lot has been happening BUT chapter two is here now! It's not a lot but I'm doing a lot of world building right now which is always fun. 
> 
> When I'm writing, I usually like to have a visual representation of my characters and my scenes, so for this exact purpose, I made a pinterest board, which you can find here: https://www.pinterest.com/LittleSinisterMe/
> 
> The girl in the photos is Sasha Kichigina, and as soon as I saw a photo of her, I immediately thought, 'that's her, that's my female harry' so I hope you guys think she's as perfect for the part as I do.
> 
> The next chapter shouldn't take as long, it should be out much sooner. Thank you guys so much for all the interest you've shown in this fic so far, even though it's only been a chapter up until now. Your support means so much to me.


	3. Ante: Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While shopping in Diagon Alley, Hariel learns a bit about herself and her past.

Professor McGonagall leads her out of the bank and back down the alley. “Trunk first, I think, and we can put your supplies into it as we shop.”

Hariel nods in agreement and follows Professor McGonagall into a nearby shop with wood and steel trunks and cabinets in their display window. There’s no sign, but an engraving on the door announces them to be Ludwig Luggage. The shopkeeper is busy helping a family when they enter, so Hariel wanders around the shop, looking at the available choices in their display cases. There’s a plain, single compartment trunk with featherlight and shrinking charms on it, which are both pretty self explanatory; another with three compartments, one for books, one for clothes, and one for potions supplies and herb clippings with a stasis charm to keep the ingredients from going bad, also with featherlight and shrinking charms; another that’s the same as the second, but with expansion charms that make it bigger on the outside than it is on the inside. The third one also comes with a magical, uncrackable lock, and after looking at a few of the other offers, she knows it’s this one that she wants.

She waits next to it as the shopkeeper finishes up with his previous customers. He hurries over to her and says, “Good morning! Off to Hogwarts are you? Did you see anything you like or would you like help picking out a trunk?”

“Good morning, sir,” she greets politely. “I have a quick question. How, exactly, does the lock on this trunk work? I think this is the one I want but I don’t want to be locked out of it and unable to get back in.” 

“Oh no! No no, that won’t happen. There are runes carved into the metal work that will recognize your magical signature as soon as you touch it and then it will only open to your touch. Suppliers and shopkeepers have to wear gloves when moving them, see, so the runes acknowledge the first touch they receive.”

Hariel nods. “Okay, I’d like this one then, please.”

“It’ll be fifty five galleons for the trunk, lassie.” The shopkeeper takes her money when she hands over the correct amount of coins, dropping it into a pouch hanging from his belt. He pulls a pair of gloves out of his pocket and opens up the display case, pulling the trunk out for her. “Alrighty then. If you just want to lay your palm out flat against the top of the trunk, we’ll get your lock all set up for you and then you’ll be on your way.” 

She nods and does as he says. She feels a slight probing come from everywhere and nowhere and shivers slightly against it. The lock on the front of the trunk latches into place and the shopkeeper takes his gloves off. He demonstrates trying to pull open the latch, but it doesn’t budge. When she does it herself, she feels the slight probing again, but it's there and gone and the latch moves easily under her hand. Once it’s open, he shows her how to switch between the three compartments with the nobb on the outside. He explains that it will shrink with the touch of her wand, which she doesn't have yet, and expand at another touch.

She thanks the shopkeeper for his time and starts lugging her trunk over to Professor McGonagall where she’s waiting by the door. Her eye catches on a pack on her way over, however. She veers off course and touches the dark gray backpack. It’s made of a thick, heavy canvas material with brown leather accents and latches over the side pockets. The sign advertises its expansion and featherlight aspects. She wants it.

“Sir, how much is this backpack?”

“Ahh, that bag is ten galleons. For an extra galleon I can brand your initials into the leather across the top.” She thinks about it and then hands him eleven galleons and he pulls the bag down and carries it over to the counter. He fiddles with a machine behind the counter and calls back to her, “What are your initials, lassie?”

“HLP.”

He hums in acknowledgment and continues fiddling with the bag for a few minutes. Finally, he removes the bag from the machine and hands it over to her. “There you are, lassie. Anything else I can get for you today?”

She takes the bag from him and shakes her head. She runs her fingers over the branding on the leather, awed. She’s never had something that was  _ hers _ before. Now she has a trunk waiting to be filled and a backpack with her initials on it. She takes off the backpack around her shoulders and stuffs it into the new bag. The bag doesn’t even bulge.

She walks happily over to Professor McGonagall, who’s looking down at her, amused. She taps her wand against Hariel’s trunk and it shrinks into her hand. Hariel takes it from her and puts it in her money pouch so it doesn’t get lost.

“Now clothes, I think.” Professor McGonagall examines her closely. “We’ll go to Twilfit and Tattings for that now.” They exit the store and walk past a few shops before stopping in front of the clothing retailer she saw earlier. Professor McGonagall points in the other direction. “Most students go to Madam Malkin for school robes. Her clothes are often more cheaply priced but they tend to be grown out a fair bit faster than those from Twilfit. Twilfit can also outfit you with more than just formal and school robes. We’ll be needing a few extra sets of casual clothing for you, I think.”

They enter the store and a bright haired witch immediately pops around the corner to help them.

“Professor McGonagall! It’s good to see you! Here with a first year, are you?” The girl grins down at Hariel.

Hariel smiles back at her as Professor McGonagall greets her. “Hello Miss Twilfit. We’ll be needing the whole Hogwarts set as well as some casual clothing for Miss Potter, here.” 

“Potter?” The girl startles. “Harri Potter?” She peers at her forehead, where Hariel’s hair is hiding the scar on her forehead. Hariel shifts slightly behind her professor as she says, “Yes, Miss Twilfit, and I’ll thank you not to spread it around that she’s here.”

The witch nods eagerly. “Of course! If you’ll step right this way, Miss Potter, we’ll get you all taken care of.” She helps Hariel step up onto a raised platform and then disappears around a rack of cloaks. She comes back after a few moments with a matronly woman who is clearly her mother and a bundle of fabric in her arms.

“Miss Potter! It’s so good to have you in our store. It’s been such a long time since a member of the Potter family has shopped with us. We’ll get you all taken care of and outfitted with enough clothing to last you the school year and longer.” The woman beams at her and reaches out and shakes her hand. 

The girl waves her wand over a tape measure and it moves on its own, taking her measurements. The two women record her information, muttering between themselves, and waving their wands over the fabric, which appears to be the school uniform. 

They set to work altering the clothing as well as offering her other clothes, skirts and sweaters, and socks and the like for her to wear outside of her school uniform.

She emerges nearly an hour later, nearly eighty galleons lighter but wearing a new pair of flats, a turtleneck sweater, and a skirt, with a light cloak thrown over her shoulders and the rest of her new clothes folded away in her trunk. The clothes were expensive, but they’re decent quality and she knows that they’ll last her a few years at least. The older woman had told her that there were runes sewn into the fabric that would allow the clothes to grow with her for at least two years.

“Once you reach your teenage years, you never stop growing. Trust me, Katya grew through two sizes in her second year at Hogwarts alone. Most likely, you won’t need new clothes next summer but the summer after your second year, come back to us and we’ll take good care of you.” She winks at Hariel. Hariel smiles back at her and assures her that she’ll come back when she needs new clothes.

She and Professor McGonagall leave the two women as a small family comes in to shop. The professor guides her a few shops down to an apothecary advertising cauldrons and potions supplies. There, she buys a small cauldron and scale and the required potions kit from her supplies list. They move on across the alley and buy a nice telescope that can see all the way to the surface of Mars. 

As she’s paying for her telescope, her stomach grumbles, reminding her that she hasn’t eaten since yesterday. She blushes as Professor McGonagall arches an eyebrow, amused. She opens her mouth to apologize, but the professor speaks first, saying, “How about our next stop be to the little restaurant next door, hmm? They make some food that rivals food at Hogwarts for how good it is.”

And so they go and eat some of the best food Hariel’s ever had. She hasn’t eaten much over the past week, just the fruit she smuggled out of her cupboard a few days ago. She’s been wary about unlocking the deadbolts on her door because they’re big and loud and she wants to wait until they’re all out of the house to figure out how to keep them quiet while she creeps out at night.

So she eats cautiously and puts about half of it into a container she bought in the apothecary. She puts the container in the section of her trunk with the stasis charms to keep it good until she can eat again without throwing up. Professor McGonagall watches her, bemused, but doesn’t ask about it. Her brows furrow as she puts the food in her trunk and well. Hariel has spent enough time with her so far to know she’s not an fool. She knows she’s short for her age. Professor McGonagall saw her topless in Twilfits, with her barely visible ribs, and she knows the professor is starting to notice the way she stiffens and freezes when people and things move suddenly and unexpectedly. She’s catching on that Hariel hasn’t exactly had a happy or even conventional childhood and Hariel’s just waiting for her to say something. With every little thing she notices, her lips tighten further and further, but she hasn’t mentioned it yet. 

She distracts the professor by asking a seemingly endless amount of questions about anything and everything - her parents, the school, the magical world. Professor McGonagall tells her about the school house system - Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and her own house, Gryffindor - and each of their attributes and histories. About how most major politicians are Hufflepuffs and Slytherins, most craft masters are Ravenclaws and Slytherins, most law enforcement officers - aurors - are Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, and more. She explains the money value, and the current exchange rate between galleons and British pounds. She tells her about the shops in the alley, about who sells what, what their products are used for, about the village Hogsmeade, near Hogwarts, that older students can visit one weekend a month with their parents permission.

The professor tells her as much as she can about her parents, about her mother, who was a charms and potions prodigy, second in the latter to only Severus Snape, current potions professor. About her father, who was one of the best transfiguration students she’s ever had. About how her mother had just finished her charms mastery, about how her father had immediately gone into magical law enforcement to fight in a war that had ended a year after her birth. About how he had to drop out of training to take over head of family duties after the sudden death of his own father, less than a year after his graduation.

Most importantly, Professor McGonagall tells her about the night her parents died.

“You must understand, Miss Potter, that no one truly knows what happened that night. But most will assume that they do. Investigations show that You-Know-Who, the Dark Lord, fired two killing curses that night. But you lived. You are the only wix who has ever survived the killing curse. You-Know-Who disappeared after that night. Most wixen believe that you killed him, Miss Potter. That your magic reflected the curse back at him.”

She listened raptly, and asked, “Is that possible? Why wouldn’t other wix’s magic protect them like that? Why would only my magic do that?”

Professor McGonagall shakes her head, “No one knows, Miss Potter. Your mother was particularly proud of you even when you were still just an infant. She told the staff quite a few stories of you performing accidental magic at only a few months old, when most magical children don’t do so until they are toddlers. At the time of their deaths, they had been considering putting a bind on your magic until you were old enough to begin learning to control it. Of course, James also told the same stories to anyone who would listen at the Ministry. I suppose it plays into why many wixen so strongly believe it was you who defeated You-Know-Who.”

That catches her attention. “Do you disagree, Professor?”

Professor McGonagall looks at her thoughtfully. “As I said, no one truly knows what happened that night. Your parents were both very knowledgeable in defensive magic, Miss Potter, and I do not for one moment believe that there is no magic they would not perform to protect you. There are some magics - rituals and rites - that have high rewards, but high costs as well. Both of them died that night, Miss Potter, in order for you to live. Sacrifice such as that is a very powerful tool indeed.”

Hariel thinks about that for a bit. “But people believe it was a baby who did it? If I was only a year old, how would I have known how to stop the curse?”

“Accidental magic is a magical output of energy with very little focus or direction. It is a very powerful method of practice. Of course, as witches and wizards grow, they learn to reign it in and use it with control, but as children, there is nearly no control to be had. In short, a child’s accidental magic could do anything. I’m sure that even growing up at the Dursleys, you’ve experienced some sort of accidental magic, yes? You needed or wanted something badly enough that it happened? Or you had a bout of extreme emotion and your magic lashed out in response?”

She mulls it over, thinking about all the times she’s used her magic instinctively over the years,

(that time she turned her teacher’s hair blue

that time aunt petunia gave her an awful bob cut and her long dark curls grew back overnight like they were never gone

the first time she set uncle vernon’s hair on fire) 

and responds, “One time, Dudley and his friends were chasing after me and I ended up on the roof of the school. You mean like that? I was running around a corner one second and then almost falling off the roof the next.”

Professor McGonagall smiles tightly. “That would be one instance, yes. Your father, when he was just a toddler, had a habit of summoning toys and stuffed animals to his crib after his parents had put him down for bed. He would entertain and exhaust himself by making them move and dance as he grew older. These kinds of things are normal for magical children.”

She thinks on that as Professor McGonagall pays for their meal. Accidental magic. She thinks about the few things she’s done that she hasn’t meant to, but the majority of the magic she’s performed has been purposeful. Is it really that unusual to have control at a young age? 

And in addition to that, she’s never summoned anything in her life, as far as she can remember. She supposes it makes sense that most children wouldn’t set their family on fire, since most families actually love their children and don’t lock them in cupboards or hit them over the head with a frying pan or punish them for having good grades or really anything that the Dursleys have done to her over the past decade.

She figures that most children her age haven’t been in the same situations as her, where learning to control her magic was possibly the only reason she was alive to this day. 

She’s broken out of her thoughts as her Professor returns to their table, gathering their things to continue shopping. 

“Flourish and Blotts next, I think, and then we’ll be off to Ollivander’s to get your wand.”

Hariel nods as they leave the store. They’re walking back down the alley to the bookshop when she hesitates as they pass Eeylopes Owl Emporium. The professor notices and her lips twitch. 

“Shall we make a short stop here, hmm? Every witch worth her magic has a companion. Shall we find you one here?”

Hariel grins and nods, turning into the shop. As she steps into the shop, her eyes catch on a gorgeous snowy owl towards the front. It stands out against every other owl in the store and she knows that if she had any less self control, that owl would have been her first choice. 

But she’s trying to fit in here, and an owl like this will only make her stand out more than she already does. So she passes by the beautiful bird and wanders around the rest of the store. She’s almost been through the whole store when her eye once more catches on a gorgeous owl towards the back. The plaque under its stand labels it as a female barn owl, and as Hariel approaches her, she tilts her head at her curiously. Her feathers are a gorgeous golden brown, her face pure white.

They connect eyes and Hariel knows, instantly, that this is her owl. She reaches a hand out, stroking her fingers down the owl’s soft chest. The owl leans into her touch, nipping her fingers gently.

“I never seen ‘er react to anyone like that. You must be something special lassie, to ‘ave caught ‘er attention like that.”

Hariel jerks back, a stammering apology on her lips, but the man watching her just waves her off.

“Been ‘ere almost two years, she has. Gives the cold shoulder to everyone who comes near ‘er. But she likes you.”

“She’s incredible,” Hariel breathes, her hand reaching out again. The man continues to study her for a moment. 

“Take ‘er home with you. Free of charge. She’s been needin’ a good home and I know you won't do ‘er wrong.”

“Are you sure?” Hariel asks, uncertain. “I can pay.”

“Nah, don’ worry about it. It’s clear the two ‘a you are meant for each other. Take ‘er with you, give ‘er a good home.” 

So she does. She buys and pays for a cage and accessories, and drops a few extra galleons on the counter and walks away before the man can make her take them back. She has no idea what he usually sells the owls for - there are no pricing tags or signs anywhere - but she figures she’s covered at least half the cost. 

She grins at Professor McGonagall as she exits the shop, the gorgeous bird still on her arm. The professor’s lips quirk as she says, “Beautiful bird you’ve found yourself, Miss Potter. Have you named it?”

“Not yet,” Hariel replies. “I want her name to mean something.”

Professor McGonagall nods. “A wise decision. Shall we head to Flourish and Blotts to buy your school books?”

Hariel agrees and they continue making their way down the alley. In the bookshop, she buys her collection of school books, as well as a few extra books that Professor McGonagall recommends as an introduction to the wixen world. She adds in a stack of books on wixen history and basic magical theory.

She does  _ not _ want to begin Hogwarts without having a basic understanding of the world she’s entering. Nearly all of her classmates will be far more advanced than her by virtue of having grown up knowing basic information that she’s lived without. She’s determined to catch up as much as she can.

After the book store, they go back down the alley.

Professor McGonagall stops her outside of Ollivander’s. She tells her that students buying their first wand is usually an intimate event, only experienced by family members and as such, she’ll wait outside while Hariel speaks with Ollivander. Hariel nods tightly, hiding the anxiety that suddenly pops up in her chest. 

This is the moment that determines whether this is real. She’s only been in Diagon for a few hours, but she can’t imagine giving this new world up. But suddenly she’s worried: what if none of Ollivander’s wands work for her? What if she goes in and he turns her away? What then?

She ignores the twisting and turning of her stomach, entering the shop quickly without giving herself more time to doubt.

The interior of the shop is dark and dusty, with seemingly endless narrow boxes lining the walls. There’s a counter in the center of the room, but Ollivander isn’t behind it.

She steps up to the counter tentatively, calling out a soft “Hello?” as she does so.

There’s a rattling noise and suddenly an eccentric man appears on a moving ladder.

“Ah yes,” Ollivander says. “Yes, yes. I thought I’d be seeing you soon. Hariel Potter.” It wasn’t a question. “You have your mother’s eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work.”

He climbs down from the ladder and observes her with bright, moon-silver eyes.

“Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it - it’s really the wand that chooses the wix, of course.”

He approaches her from around the counter. He peers into her face and says “And that’s where…” Ollivander touches the lightning scar on Hariel’s forehead with a long, white finger. “I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that did it,” he said softly. “Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands… well, if I’d known what that wand was going out into the world to do…”

She leans back from his touch, uncomfortable with him in her space. He seems to notice and he hesitates for a moment more before whirling around. He pulls some tools from his counter and begins measuring her in much the same way as the mother-daughter duo at Twilfit.

He explains his method to her, the three different cores he uses in his wands, the complete individuality of each one. 

“That will do,” he says eventually, and the tape measure crumples into a heap on the floor. He goes back behind the counter to pull a few different boxes from the shelves. 

“Right then, Miss Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a wave.” Hariel takes the wand and flicks it the way she’s seen Professor McGonagall do, but Ollivander snatches it out of her hand almost at once. 

“Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try —” Hariel tries but she had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Ollivander. “No, no — here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out.” Hariel tries. And tries. 

She has no idea what Mr. Ollivander is waiting for. The pile of tried wands is mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair behind the counter, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulls from the shelves, the happier he seems to become. 

“Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we’ll find the perfect match here somewhere - I wonder, now - yes, why not - unusual combination - holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.” Hariel takes the wand. She feels a sudden warmth in her fingers and raises the wand above her head, bringing it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. 

Ollivander cries out, “Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well…how curious…how very curious…” He puts Hariel’s wand back into its box and wraps it in brown paper, still muttering, “Curious…curious…” 

“Sorry, sir,” says Hariel, “but what’s curious?” 

Ollivander fixes her with his pale stare. “I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Miss Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather - just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother - why, its brother gave you that scar.” Hariel swallows. “Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember…I think we must expect great things from you, Miss Potter….After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things — terrible, yes, but great.” 

Hariel quickly pays for her wand and leaves the store. She shakes off the strange feeling that Ollivander’s little speech has given her and finds Professor McGonagall at the cafe across the street.

She tucks her wand into her backpack and she and the professor leave the alley to head back to Surrey.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! As you may have noticed, this is now a series! I've added a side story with scenes from alternative perspectives so you should totally go check it out. I've already posted a chapter from Petunia's perspective, and I've begun the next chapter already. I'll be alternating back and forth between postings for now, one chapter here and a companion piece there.
> 
> Also some of this is yanked directly from the book with just verb tense and pronouns changed, so if you recognize it, I don't own it.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! It took me forever and the amount of times I've typed "Professor McGonagall" both in this chapter and the last... *shudder*


	4. Book 1: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There is a brief discussion of abuse in this chapter. If you are triggered by abuse, I don’t suggest you read this fic. I also need you to keep in mind that this is from Hariel’s point of view and talks about how she thinks about her childhood. I in no way support or endorse the hitting of children.
> 
> HI! This chapter took a long time but it’s here now! Here it is! This chapter is very long, 25 pages of a google doc and nearly as many words as the other three chapters combined. It took me soooo long to write. It has a lot of twists and turns in it. Pay close attention or you might miss something… 
> 
> But before you read this, you should read the second chapter of my outtakes fic, featuring povs from characters other than Hariel. Chapter two is McGonagall’s pov of the last two chapters of this fic and it’s not much, but you should still definitely go check it out. 
> 
> Enjoy guys!

The month of August is quite possibly the best month she’s ever had. Her aunt’s retaliation for not doing as she’d said and sending Professor McGonagall away was only to lock Hariel in her room for another week, but it only took two days for all of the Dursleys to be out of the house together and for Hariel to figure out how to silence the locks.

After that, the month passed by quickly in a routine of reading all her new books during the day and sneaking food for both her and her new owl at night. She reads almost all of her books in under two weeks, having nothing better to do while locked in her room. She reads the introductory books first, hoping that by the time she reaches the textbooks she’ll at least have an idea of what magicks each subject will address. She reads the history books next, paying careful attention to the Second Wixen War and what is written about her and her parents in each. Some of it is difficult to get through, some of the terminology unknown to her, but she has nothing but time so she pushes her way through. She reads about great witches and wizards in magical history, the wix who built the world she’s about to enter.

She names her owl after Hedwig Hawkworth, a witch from the early 20th century who began the magical equivalent to the muggles’ women’s rights reform. She was also the first female Wizengamot member, having been selected heir and inheriting the seat after the death of her great-grandfather over all her other male relatives. She was, according to all accounts, incredibly formidable and outspoken, unafraid to speak her thoughts and opinions and use them to bend the wixen world to her will. She’s who Hariel wants to grow up to be: intelligent and powerful.

The last two weeks, she’s let out of her room during the day, and she spends her hours as she had before the letter: at the library and in the garden. She bought a few binded journals from the bookstore in Diagon Alley and takes them, her textbooks, and some ink and a quill with her to the library. She reads her textbooks and then she reads them again, this time practicing with her quill while taking light notes about the information in the books.

In the garden, she weeds her plants and pushes enough life into them to last them the last few warm months. She talks to her local snakes, tells them about Hogwarts and about all the things she’s read that day. She beams at them when they wish her luck at school, even though it’s a concept they aren’t able to fully grasp.

Finally, _finally_ , August is ending and the first of September is right around the corner. When McGonagall dropped her off after their trip to Diagon Alley, she’d stopped and talked to Aunt Petunia before leaving. Hariel had been taking her stuff up to her room at that point so she doesn’t know what was said, but the result is that Aunt Petunia raps on her door early in the morning on September first, demanding that she be up and ready to leave for London in a half an hour if she wants to go to Hogwarts. 

Hariel had packed all her things the night before, but she still rushes in getting ready, putting on one of her new dresses, throwing her last few possessions into her trunk, tucking her shrunken trunk into her backpack. 

Backpack on her shoulders and Hedwig’s cage in hand, she’s downstairs ten minutes early, waiting for Aunt Petunia to be ready to leave.

The trip to London is silent, neither Aunt Petunia or Hariel speaking to each other at all, even when they get to Kings Cross Station. Aunt Petunia pulls up into the loading station and says nothing as Hariel exits the car, Hedwig’s cage in hand. She pulls away as soon as Hariel’s door is closed, and Hariel’s on her own to find the platform. It’s coming up on 10:30 and the very last thing Hariel wants is to miss the train so she runs all the way to platform nine, looking around for any sign of 9 ¾. _Hogwarts, A History_ had said it was between platforms nine and ten, but she doesn’t see a marker for it anywhere.

She’s working herself into a state of quiet panic when she catches a snippet of conversation across the platform.

“-Packed with muggles, of course-”

Hariel whips around to see a red headed woman walking with a gaggle of children with carts and trunks and an owl cage. Hariel’s knees nearly give out in relief when she sees the school logo on the trunks and realizes they must be Hogwarts students. She walks towards them, but keeps her distance. She hears a few other things from the family and sees the strange looks they get from the muggles around them. They approach the barrier between the platforms and after some encouragement from the woman, the oldest boy takes a run at the wall. She tenses up, ready to yell out for him to stop before he _runs into the wall_ , but he disappears. She watches, flabbergasted, as a set of twins follow him, traveling straight through the wall like it doesn’t exist. The rest of the family goes next and once they’re gone she approaches the wall warily. 

She glances around her, but nobody is paying her any attention. She warily lifts her hand and puts it against the wall, jerking it back when it phases right through. She takes a minute to gather her courage and then forces herself to walk through the wall. The sensation is odd, like walking through a waterfall without getting wet. She feels the magic around the platform envelope and swirl around her, recognizing her as a student and fading back to an almost unnoticeable hum in the back of her mind.

She hadn’t realized she closed her eyes but she opens them now to see a long steam train, painted bright red with the colorful Hogwarts logo on the engine car. There aren’t very many students left on the platform but there are a few rushing to get onto the train. She joins them, hopping up into the nearest car and looking for an empty compartment. There are none, but one has only a single person in it so she rapps lightly on the door. The boy startles, looking away from the window before gesturing her inside.

“Hello!” Hariel says cheerfully. “Do you mind if I join you? All the other compartments in this car are full.”

“Of-of course,” the boy stammers out.

She grins at him, closing the compartment door behind her. She sits down across from him, Hedwig next to her, and pulls one of her novels out of her backpack. It’s one she’s already read twice before but it’s a fascinating one, with lots of interesting magic, and she doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of reading it.

The train takes off shortly thereafter, and from the window she can see young children and even some parents take off running with the train, only stopping when they run out of platform.

The boy pulls out his own book after they’ve left the platform behind and for a while they’re silent, lost in their books. They’ve been on the train for about an hour when Hedwig starts getting restless. The windows on the train open, so she pulls it down and opens up Hedwig’s cage, whispering “Don’t go too far girl.”

The boy watches with light interest until Hedwig is gone. “She’s a beautiful bird.”

“She is,” Hariel agrees. “I couldn’t believe nobody wanted her. The shopkeeper said she’d been there for two years.”

The boy stares after Hedwig longingly. “I wish my gran had gotten me an owl. My uncle gave me a toad instead.”

“Really?” Hariel asks, intrigued. “Is it common in the magical world to have toads as pets?”

“It used to be a lot more common, but not many people bring their toads to school with them these days.”

“Interesting,” Hariel murmurs.

“Would you like to see him?” the boy asks shyly. “His name is Trevor.”

“Sure!” Hariel agrees. “I’ve never heard of someone having a toad as a pet. Usually muggles have frogs instead of toads, I think.”

“Are you a muggleborn then?” He asks as he reaches down behind his legs to pull up a glass terrarium. 

“Muggle raised, actually. My parents were both-”

She’s cut off as the boys gasps, horrified.

“He’s gone! He escaped again! We’ve been on the train for an hour, he could be anywhere!”

She can tell that the boy is working himself into a state of panic, and she tries to calm him down. 

“It’s alright, we’ll find him. Help me search the compartment and if he isn’t here, we can go ask other students if they’ve seen him, okay?’

The boy nods, and they search the whole compartment, even looking under the bench cushions.

“He’s not here,” the boy groans. “He could be anywhere!”

Hariel pulls her backpack over her shoulders and says, “We’ll go look in the other compartments, okay?”

They leave the compartment, and go to the next one over. Another first year girl is sitting alone and reading a thick tome. She gets up to unlock the compartment door when they knock.

“Hello! We were sitting in the compartment next door, and he’s lost his pet toad.” She gestures to the boy next to her. “We were just wondering if you’ve seen it.”

“A toad?” The girl taps her chin thoughtfully. “No, I don’t believe I’ve seen a toad. Would you like help looking?”

“Sure!” Hariel agrees. “We can split up and look faster that way.”

The girl tucks her book into her backpack and says, “I’m Hermione, by the way. Hermione Granger.”

“Neville Longbottom,” says the boy next to her and she just now realizes she hadn’t introduced herself to him.

“Hariel Potter.”

The boy startles and even the girl stares at her for a moment. But before things can get weird, she says. “Why don’t you guys head toward the front of the train and I’ll head toward the back? Divide and conquer and all that.”

She barely waits for Granger’s nod and Longbottom’s stuttering agreement before she takes off in the other direction. She stops at each of the compartments in that car and the next, asking if anyone’s seen a toad. Everyone is polite in telling her that they haven’t, until she gets to the last compartment on the train.

There are four first years, three boys and one girl, and they all look up when she knocks on the door. It’s unlocked so she slides it open and greets them, “Hello! I’m looking for a toad? One of the other first years has lost his. Have you seen it?”

“A toad?” The blonde boy in the corner snorts in derision. “Who brings a toad to Hogwarts these days?”

She narrows her eyes at him slightly. “Neville Longbottom brought his companion to school like any other student. What does it matter what kind of pet he has?”

“Longbottom,” the girl sneers. “That squib managed to get into Hogwarts?”

“His grandmother must have paid off the headmaster,” the blonde boy agrees.

“Excuse you? Neville isn’t a squib, obviously, or he wouldn’t have gotten in. The acceptance book can’t be bribed.” She’d read about it in one of her texts about magical history, squibs throughout time who had tried to attend Hogwarts and had been turned away, only to go on and become some of the muggle’s greatest historical figures. They were far and few between, but none of them had ever gotten to attend Hogwarts.

Plus, Hariel had been in a compartment with him for an hour. She had felt his magic. He most definitely wasn’t a squib.

“He’s weak,” the boy says. “His uncle had to throw him out a window to know he had any magic at all.”

Oh. Oh no. Neville’s uncle threw him out of a window to see if his accidental magic would save him? He could have died! And this boy thought it was funny!

“You think that’s amusing?” she asked softly. “You think it’s funny that a man threw a child out of a window and could have killed him?”

The boy looks somewhat uncomfortable under her scrutiny but the girl doesn’t seem to care.

“If he’d been a squib, he would have deserved it,” she scoffs. 

She tilts her head at the girl. “What’s your name?”

“Pansy Parkinson,” she says proudly, “and he’s Draco Malfoy. And you are?”

She doesn’t answer. Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy. She’ll remember their names.

Hariel knows a lot about the term ‘abuse.’ She read about it in the library after she’d arrived at school one day with a dark handprint wrapping around her arm. The counselor had sat her down and explained what it was and asked pointed questions about her home life. She hadn’t given her anything, of course, she wasn’t that stupid. It had been before she learned to control her fire and having social workers come to Privet Drive because of Hariel… would have been very bad for her. Later, after she’d gotten into the routine of visiting the library after school, she’d rediscovered the word in a novel and tracked down some psychology texts to do some research about it.

She knew, of course, that from a certain perspective, ‘abuse’ could be used in relation to her relationship with her aunt and uncle, and even Dudley to an extent. But she’d never really called it that. It had been years ago, anyway, so it didn’t matter anymore.

The point is, throwing a child out of a window to see if he has magic is not the behavior of a man who cares about his nephew. She knew, instinctively, that Neville had had no happier a childhood than her.

Besides, Hariel’s felt Neville’s magic.

Hariel grins sharply at Parkinson. “Neville has more magic in his pinkie finger than you have in your entire body.”

Parkinson gapes at her. “If you think that-that _squib_ is more powerful than I am-”

“I don’t think he’s more powerful than you,” Hariel interrupts her. “I know he is.”

Parkinson jumps up and draws her wand. She shouts a spell Hariel doesn’t recognize but a beam of sickly yellow light flies toward her. Hariel threw herself out of the way just in time for it to whiz past her head and with barely a thought, she set Parkinson’s hair on fire in retaliation. 

She shrieks and casts a water charm on herself as Malfoy and the two other boys, who had been silent through their entire exchange, jump up and draw their wands. Hariel slams the compartment door between them just in time for their spells to hit the glass instead of her. She magicks the lock shut and uses the precious few seconds it gives her to leave the car and get into the next one. She flips that lock behind her as well.

She knocks on the first compartment door and slips inside without waiting for an answer, ripping past the intense magic she feels over the doorway. She tugs the blinds shut just in time to hear the door slam open and Malfoy run past, shouting, “Come back here! I’m getting a prefect!” She snorts and rolls her eyes.

Once she can no longer hear him, she turns and observes the compartment she’d burst into. There are four older boys studying her from across the compartment. By the green and silver on their ties, they’re all Slytherins.

They’re all looking at her like she’s the most fascinating thing they’ve ever seen and she struggles to keep her spine from stiffening under their sharp eyes.

“Hello,” she greets them pleasantly. “Sorry for intruding, I just needed a quick hiding place. I’ll get out of your hair now if-”

“There’s no need for that,” says the boy closest to the door, eyeing her with distinct interest. “You’re welcome to join us for as long as you need to stay.”

“Thank you,” she beams at them. She might be overdoing it a bit, but these boys are making her uneasy, looking for all the world like they want to eat her. She drops her bag and cautiously sits close to the door and out of reaching range, not that it means much when they all have their wands drawn.

“Forgive me, but do you mind if I ask you a question?” the boy requests, still blatantly staring.

“Oh, I was just exploring the train, I’ve never been on one before you know, and I ran into a boy who lost his toad so I offered to help find it and then I got into a bit of an argument but really, they started it, and if they didn’t want -” she rambles.

“Blimey, girl, not that!” bursts out of the boy sitting next to her.

“You tore through our wards like they were nothing. Not even most fifth years could do that,” adds the boy in the opposite corner.

“Oh.” She shrugs. “Sorry,” she says, and doesn’t explain.

But the first boy narrows his eyes and demands, “How?”

She meets his eyes and says simply, “They were in my way.”

The other three boys in the compartment stare at her in disbelief, but the first boy, who she’s coming to realize is some kind of ringleader, just leans back and eyes her with steadily increasing interest.

“Cian Rosier,” he introduces. “Slytherin third year. These are my housemates, Cassius Warrington,” he gestures to the boy next to him, “Adrian Pucey,” the boy closest to her, “and Graham Montague,” the boy in the corner.

She eyes them all warily. She recognizes their family names from a few of the history books she’s read, all of them followers of the man who killed her parents.

But still. It pays to be polite and hope they won’t be like the last few purebloods she met.

“Hariel Potter,” she says, holding out her hand.

His eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and he reaches out to her. Instead of shaking her hand like she expects, Rosier turns it over and kisses the back, saying, “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Potter.”

He releases her and she pulls her hand back immediately, shifting subtly until she’s back out of grabbing range. From the corner, the blond boy Rosier introduced as Cassius Warrington, leans forward interestedly and she stiffens harshly, moving sharply back to the corner opposite of him.

He raises an eyebrow and promises, “We aren’t going to hurt you.”

She looks at him in disbelief. “I’ve heard that before.” She doesn’t say anything more, but it’s clear that the boys understand what goes unsaid.

“From who?” Pucey demands.

She stands abruptly. “I should head back to my compartment, I need to change and get-”

“Wait, please, we didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Pucey looks vaguely alarmed. She stops, back still to the door but with a hand on the door knob. A rapping knock on the door makes her flinch sharply forward. She half turns, and without fully turning her back to the boys, she yanks the door open.

“Hello dearies! Anything off the trolley?” A matronly woman beams out at them from across a cart full of sweets. Hariel stares at the cart full of candies she’s never seen before. Still half-turned toward the boys, she sees them exchange looks out of the corner of her eye. Rosier rises, coming to stand behind her. 

“We’ll take one of everything,” he says, handing over a handful of coins. The woman smiles down at him and begins handing containers of sweets to him. He passes some of it to her and after the woman leaves, he closes the door before she can drop the candy and slip through it. He sits back down and drops his armful onto the collapsable table tray that Warrington has raised. 

The boys look at her expectantly as she stands next to the door, arms full of sweets and back stiffly straight. None of them move when she steps forward tentatively. All of their hands are where she can see them and only Warrington and Pucey still have their wands out. She takes another step and drops her sweets onto the tray and immediately backs back up. 

The boys dig through the pile and pull out candies that interest them and she stands across from them, just watching. Rosier raises his eyebrow at her. 

“You can sit back down.” He studies her for a moment. “You’re nervous. Would it make you feel better if we made oaths that we won’t try anything?”

Hariel thinks about what she read about oaths in the magical world. It _would_ make her feel better, actually, because breaking an oath has consequences here.

She nods. He pulls his wand out and announces, “I, Cian Rosier, vow on my magic that I will not try to harm or deceive Hariel Potter within the confines of this compartment of the Hogwarts Express. So mote it be.”

The other boys make matching oaths and she finally relaxes, sitting back down next to Pucey when he pats the seat next to him. He passes her a purple carton labeled ‘chocolate frog’ and turns back to his own sweets. She pries the carton open and jumps as a small brown frog leaps out at her. Pucey laughs, catching the frog mid-air and says, “Careful with that.”

She takes it from him and observes the wiggling frog, fascinated. 

“What, have you never seen a chocolate frog before?” Montague snorts from the corner. 

She looks over at him cooly. “No, actually. I grew up in the muggle world. Their chocolate doesn’t move when you take it out of the packaging.”

Warrington startles and Pucey whips his head around to stare at her, blurting, “You grew up with _muggles?_ ”

She narrows her eyes at him. “Yes, I did.”

“I bet it was awful,” Montague sneers.

She outright glares at him. He jerks back in surprise at the harsh look. “It was,” she says shortly. Then, because she doesn’t want to feed into the ideology she knows they grew up in, “but not because they were muggles. They’re just horrid people.”

“Oh?” Rosier asks, deceptively uninterested. 

She transfers her glare to him. “They hate magic. They didn’t even tell me I was a witch. I found out first from the invitation letter, and then Professor McGonagall confirmed it when she came to take me shopping for supplies. Of course, I’ve been doing accidental magic years and I knew what it was, but I had no idea that my parents had been magical or that there were other people out there who could do what I can do. They hate magic and they hate me for having magic.” 

She finishes her tirade, breathing heavily, and realizes she may have just given some of her future enemies some very heavy ammunition to use against her, but at that moment she can’t bring herself to care. All four boys are blatantly staring at her now and all she feels is exhausted. This whole day has been a rollercoaster of emotion, from excitement that she was leaving, to anxiety that she wouldn’t make it on the train in time, to excitement once again, to anger at Malfoy and Parkinson, to wariness, back to anger - it was a lot for a girl who usually didn’t feel much aside from her deep-seeded anger at her home situation.

She slumps back into her seat and commands, “If you want me to stay, we’ll talk about anything other than my personal life and history.”

Rosier nods slowly, still watching her with a mixed expression of interest and something close to alarm, and asks, “We can talk about us now, if you want? We can tell you about Hogwarts, and answer any questions you have about the magical world.”

She points at him and demands, “Tell me about Hogwarts. I’ve read all the textbooks and _Hogwarts: A History_ , but you guys have been going for years. Tell me what I can’t learn in books.”

They spend the rest of the train ride talking about Hogwarts classes and houses,

(“Slytherin is our house, obviously. We value ambition most of all, along with cunning and subtlety. There’s Hufflepuff, for the loyal and hardworking, Ravenclaw for the intelligent and studious, and Gryffindor for the brave and bold,” Pucey explains.

“Slytherin is the best house, of course,” Rosier claims. “Ravenclaw is next best, but they get too distracted by personal interests and experiments to actually do their schoolwork. Slytherin students have topped the class rankings every year for the past decade.” 

“And we’ve won the quidditch cup the last six years in a row,” adds Montague.

Hariel tilts her head and asks, “What’s quidditch?”)

quidditch, 

(“You don’t know what _quidditch is?_ ” Warrington demands, shocked.

She raises an eyebrow at him and points at herself. “Muggle raised, remember?”)

Magical London,

(“Professor McGonagall took me to Diagon Alley, but I was wondering if there were other shopping districts or if Diagon was it. She told me about Hogsmeade, too, but it doesn’t sound like much, does it? It seems a bit silly to hold an entire economy on a handful of shops.”

“Oh no, there are other alleys and other shops throughout London and the rest of Great Britain and Ireland,” Rosier assures her. “Diagon is the main shopping center because it’s where Gringotts is located, but there’s a few streets off the side of it, like Knockturn Alley and Baker Way. There are also shops located throughout Muggle London, if you know where to look for them. There’s also hubs like Diagon in Dublin and Edinburgh.”

“Wow,” Hariel says, fascinated.) 

and the magical government,

(“It’s located about the same area as the muggle government, out on Whitehall. The majority of our departments are all located in one building, however, unlike the muggle government. Our community is a lot smaller than theirs, so our entire government system fits into one very large building,” Pucey explains.)

and how it’s separate from the muggle government.

She doesn’t even notice the hours passing until a bell clangs and a disembodied voice announces, “Fifteen minutes until we reach Hogsmeade Station.”

She stands reluctantly and says, “I need to find a bathroom to change into my school robes.”

Rosier stands with her. “You can change here. We’ll head out into the hall and wait for you out there. Afterwards, I can introduce you to my cousin, Daphne. She’s in your year, you guys can go up to Hogwarts together.”

Hariel shrugs. “Sure.”

The boys, already in their uniforms, grab their packs and file out of the compartment and into the hall. She draws the blinds down fully and locks the door, pushing magic into it to keep it locked in case someone tries to get in while she’s half naked.

She changes quickly, stuffing her dress and sweater into her backpack carelessly. She drapes her plain black cloak over her shoulders, flips her hair out of her face, and opens the compartment door to see half of her Slytherin third years pointing their wands at an older Gryffindor student. Pucey is waving his wand over Montague’s nose, which is bleeding profusely and clearly broken. 

Warrington glances over to her as she steps out of the compartment, but Rosier doesn’t move, his wand held steadily against the throat of the Gryffindor. 

She arches her eyebrow at Warrington and he explains, “He asked why we were hanging around the hallway and wouldn’t listen when we told him we were waiting for you. He tried to get into the compartment and when Graham stopped him, he threw a punch. Broke Graham’s nose, and we were discouraging him from trying again.” 

She looks over at the Gryffindor. “You tried to get into a compartment that you were told held a half-naked eleven year old girl?”

He sputters, “N-No of course not, I didn’t- I wasn’t- I-”

“Why didn’t you believe them when they told you I was in there?” she asks, genuinely confused.

“They’re snakes! Liars and dark wizards, the lot of them!” he shouts.

“I see,” she says. She turns toward Rosier. “Are all Gryffindors like this?” she asks.

“Mostly,” he confirms. “There’re a few good ones, but the majority are just like him.”

“Well then. I know what house I _don’t_ want to be in now,” she says, disappointed.

Pucey huffs a laugh, still trying to fix Montague’s nose. “Everyone will expect you to go there, but honestly? It’s overrated. Full of ignorant and bullheaded people. You’d be bored and annoyed there.”

She nods. “Clearly.”

Pucey finally steps away from Montague and says, “That’s the best I can do, for now. You’ll want to see Madam Pomfrey tonight before curfew though. She’ll be able to reset it better than I have.”

Rosier lowers his wand and Warrington nudges the Gryffindor away. “Move along now. She’s done changing so we’re leaving and so are you.”

The Gryffindor glares at all of them and then stomps back down the train car.

“His name is Carl Hopkins. Keep an eye out for him, no matter what house you're in. He might try to retaliate against you while you can’t defend yourself,” Rosier warns. “C’mon, Daphne is up towards the front. If we move now, we’ll reach her before the train stops.”

The move as a group up the train toward the front. About half way there, they pass Hariel’s original compartment, where Granger and Neville are now sitting. Trevor nowhere to be seen and Neville looks even more dejected than he had earlier. She pauses, and then asks, “Do any of you know how to do a summoning charm? I read about it in the charms book but I can’t do it myself.”

“I can,” Rosier offers. “What do you need summoned?”

“Trevor the toad, please.” 

He nods. “ _Accio_ Trevor the toad.”

They wait a few moments before a toad comes slinging through the air towards them. Rosier catches it mid-air and hands it to her. She slides open the compartment door and greets them brightly. “Hey guys! I didn’t find Trevor, but I found an older student who summoned him for me!” She hands the toad to Neville, who looks relieved that his pet is back with him. “He’s gonna take me to meet another first year, so I’ll see you guys later, okay?” Granger and Neville say their goodbyes and Hariel and the third years keep moving.

She hears Montague mutter under his breath, “Hufflepuff, maybe?”

“No way, she said earlier that she read all the textbooks before coming, there’s no way she’s not Ravenclaw or Slytherin,” Pucey whispers back at him. “She’d hate Hufflepuff, anyway.”

“Or take them over,” Montague laughs.

“Upbringing like hers? The way she reacted to us earlier? There’s absolutely no way she’s not a Slytherin. Almost all the kids from bad homes come to us or Gryffindor, and she’s already said she won’t go there.” She has to focus and strain to hear Warrington as they pass a noisy compartment filled with students in red and yellow. She almost runs into the back of Rosier due to her lack of attention when he stops a couple compartment doors later.

He slides the door open and greets, “Cousin, Mr. Nott, Mr. Zabini.” His voice is warm, but his eyes are calculating as he takes in the three first year students. The two boys nod back at him, but the girl, Daphne, greets him back with a much colder, “Cousin.”

He puts a hand between Hariel’s shoulder blades and nudges her forward. “Miss Potter, this is my cousin, Daphne Greengrass, and her companions are Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini. Cousin, Nott, Zabini, this is Hariel Potter. I’m sure you’ll treat her with the utmost respect and answer any questions she may have. Daphne, come find me tonight in the common room after the prefects show you to your rooms.” He turns to Hariel. “Leave your bag on the train. It’ll be taken to your dorm after your sorting. If you have any questions or concerns, please feel free to come to us,” he gestures to the other third years, “no matter what house you’re in. We’ll be happy to help you navigate the magical world while you get your feet under you.”

She nods in agreement as the train screeches to a stop. The boys nod back at her and wave as they leave to exit the train car. She looks back at her fellow first years and asks, “Shall we?”

They exchange glances but nod in agreement, gathering up their things and putting them away in their packs, leaving them on the seats. She waits patiently and together they all exit the compartment and then the train car.

Stepping down onto the platform, she hears a loud, booming voice holler, “FIRS’ YEARS. FIRS’ YEARS OVER HERE.” She leads the others over to Hagrid, who beams at her and asks, “Alrigh’ there, Harri?” when he notices her.

She grins and nods back. The grin falls off her face as soon as Hagrid turns away and she knows the other three noticed when they look at each other and then over to her, whispering amongst themselves.

She scans the platform while they wait for the rest of the first years to show up. She sees her third years just before they’re out of sight, heading towards some horseless carriages. She watches, confused, as a group of Ravenclaws climb into one she can see, and startles as the carriage starts moving on its own. She watches until it disappears and turns her attention back to the platform.

She sees the Gryffindor from earlier, Hopkins, with a rowdy group of Gryffindors around the same age, all of them pushing and shoving each other as they head toward the carriages.

She sees Longbottom and Granger emerge from the train together, along with a redheaded boy. 

“Weasleys.” Hariel glances over at the pointy blond boy, Malfoy, as he comes to stand by Zabini and Nott. Parkinson is on his arm, and his two bodyguards are standing behind him. None of them seem to have noticed she’s there yet, they’re too busy staring in disgust at the red haired boy. “I don’t even know why they let rabble like him into this school.” 

Parkinson snorts. “I don’t even know how they can pay for it. Dirt poor, the lot of them. How many kids do they have in Hogwarts now?”

“Four,” Malfoy sneers. “And he’s with the squib and a mudblood. Blood-traitors, all of them.”

Strike two for both of them.

Zabini doesn’t react but Nott looks vaguely uncomfortable. He says nothing but glances over at her and she knows her face could be carved from stone at this point. He looks away quickly.

Well then. 

She knows she’s likely to be in Slytherin along with these other first years. Nowhere else sounds nearly as appealing. Maybe Ravenclaw. But even so, she’s going to be spending a lot of time with these students in the coming years. She’ll have to deal with this before it becomes too much of a problem to handle. Luckily, she has a lot of tools in her arsenal that she’s not afraid to use.

She’s snapped out of her plotting by Hagrid yelling, “C’mon, follow me! any more firs’ years? Mind yer step, now! Firs’ years follow me!”

The group troops after him, not over to the waiting carriages, like she expects, but down a side path.

“Yeh’ll get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec,” Hagrid called over his shoulder, “jus’ round this bend here.”

There’s loud gasps of awe as the group turns the bend in the path.

The narrow path has suddenly opened onto the edge of a wide black lake. Perched on a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, is a vast castle with large turrets and towers.

“No more’n four to a boat!” Hagrid calls, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Hariel climbs into the nearest boat, with Greengrass, Nott, and Zabini.

“Everyone in?” shouts Hagrid, who has a boat to himself. “Right then. FORWARD!” The fleet of little boats move all at once, gliding across the lake as smooth as glass. Everyone is silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towers over them as they sail nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

“Heads down!” yells Hagrid as the first boats reach the cliff; they all bend their heads and the little boats carry them through a curtain of ivy that hides a wide opening in the cliff face. They float along a dark tunnel, taking them right underneath the castle, until they reach a kind of underground harbor, where they clamber out onto rocks and pebbles. They climb up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid’s lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

They walk up a flight of stone steps and crowd around the huge, oak front door. Hagrid reaches up and heavily knocks three times. The door swings open immediately, revealing Professor McGonagall. 

“Firs’ years, this here is Professor McGonagall,” Hagrid announces.

“Thank you, Hagrid, I’ll take it from here.” She pulls the door open the rest of the way, revealing a wide entrance hall and a door off to the side that’s smothering the noise of hundreds of students. The rest of the school must have beat them here.

The group enters the castle and immediately Hariel is overwhelmed by pure magic, gently enfolding her into its embrace. It’s warm and welcoming, and she almost tears up at the feeling. She breathes in deeply and feels the magic settle into her skin, sinking down into her very bones. The sensation lingers, but it stops being overwhelming soon enough. A quick glance around tells her that only two others felt the same as she did. Zabini is one of them, she knows, when she turns to see his face tilted upwards, a small smile on his lips. The other is one of a set of twins. Hariel can feel her magic from across the group, soft and silky and smooth. 

Instead of leading them into the room with the other students, Professor McGonagall shows them to a small chamber hidden off to the side. The first years group together closely, collectively nervous and excited.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” greets Professor McGonagall. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room. The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.” She rakes her eyes over the group. “The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting. I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly.” 

Hariel wonders idly about what the Sorting Ceremony will be like, how they do it. She thinks it must be something like a personality test, but she doesn’t really know how that would work. Maybe they just get to pick between the four? 

She continues to wonder until several people behind her scream.

She whips around to see about twenty ghosts floating through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glide across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. 

A man in a monk’s garb is arguing with another ghost floating next to him. “Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance -” 

“My dear Friar, haven’t we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he’s not really even a ghost - I say, what are you all doing here?” A ghost wearing a ruff and tights peers down at the students in front of him. 

“New students!” announces Friar, smiling down at them. “About to be Sorted, I suppose?” A few people nod mutely. “Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old house, you know.”

“Move along now,” says a sharp voice. “The Sorting Ceremony’s about to start.” Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

The professor leads them out of the chamber and into the Great Hall. Hariel looks up as she hears gasps from the other students. The ceiling is gorgeous, a perfect illusion of the night sky above if not for the outlines of the stone ceiling she can faintly see. There are candles floating all about the hall as well, providing light and casting shadows about the whole room. 

Professor McGonagall leads them down the center aisle towards a raised dais where the other professors are seated. There’s a stool with a hat perched on top in the center of the dais, in front of where the wizard who _must_ be the headmaster is sitting. 

For a few moments, nothing happens. A quick glance around the room shows most of the older students looking at either the hat or at the group of first years.

She looks back to the hat just in time to see it twitch. It moves curiously, a tear in the fabric opening up like a mouth - 

“Oh, you may not think I’m pretty, 

But don’t judge on what you see, 

I’ll eat myself if you can find 

A smarter hat than me. 

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat 

And I can cap them all. 

There’s nothing hidden in your head 

The Sorting Hat can’t see, 

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be. 

You might belong in Gryffindor, 

Where dwell the brave at heart, 

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry 

Set Gryffindors apart; 

You might belong in Hufflepuff, 

Where they are just and loyal, 

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true 

And unafraid of toil; 

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, if you’ve a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning, 

Will always find their kind; 

Or perhaps in Slytherin 

You’ll make your real friends, 

Those cunning folk use any means 

To achieve their ends. 

So put me on! Don’t be afraid! 

And don’t get in a flap! 

You’re in safe hands (though I have none) 

For I’m a Thinking Cap!”

The hall bursts into applause and Hariel watches, stunned, as the hat bows to each of the four tables in turn and then becomes still once more.

Professor McGonagall steps forward holding a long roll of parchment. “When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she says. “Abbott, Hannah!”

Hannah Abbott, a short red headed girl, left the group to sit on the stool. Professor McGonagall gently sets the hat on top of her head and there’s a moment's pause before the hat shouts out, “HUFFLEPUFF!”

Bones, Susan is next and she too goes to Hufflepuff. The next few students go to Ravenclaw, Brown, Lavender is the first Gryffindor, and then Bulstrode, Millicent is the first to go to Slytherin. The table decked in green and silver clap politely, but there’s booing from the other side of the room. Bulstrode’s shoulders hunch slightly as she makes her way over to the table. Hariel turns to see who was booing, but she can only tell that it came from the Hufflepuff table. So much for being just and true, she guesses.

A few other students are sorted and then Granger, Hermione is called up. Granger sits under the hat for far longer than any other student before her, visibly arguing with it. Eventually, it calls out “GRYFFINDOR!” and Granger beams as she joins the sea of red and gold.

Longbottom was called shortly after Granger and the hat took even longer with him than it did with her. Finally, after long minutes that caused Neville to appear more and more distressed, the hat calls out “GRYFFINDOR!” and Neville nearly slumps in relief. He takes off for the Gryffindor table only to remember half-way there that the hat was still on his head. His face lit up red as laughter echoed around the room, but was grinning all the same. Hariel claps and laughs a bit with the rest of the hall, amused by Neville’s excitement.

Malfoy, Draco is called next, and she watches as the hat barely touches his head before announcing “SLYTHERIN!” to the room.

Moon, Lily goes to Gryffindor. Nott, Theodore goes to Slytherin. Parkinson, Pansy goes to Slytherin. 

She finally has a name for the girl from the entrance hall when Patil, Padma is called up. She goes to Ravenclaw and Hariel claps for her as well. Her twin, Patil, Parvati, is sorted to Gryffindor and Hariel barely has time to spare a thought about whether that’s common before Professor McGonagall announces, “Potter, Hariel.”

The entire room hushes, people at the tables straining to see the remaining first years. Whispers hiss throughout the room as she leaves the group behind her. When she turns to face the hall, every face is looking up towards her, people in the back nearly standing to get a better look.

She hates it.

Professor McGonagall drops the hat over her head before she can express her displeasure.

 _Hmm_ comes from a small voice in the back of her mind. _Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There’s talent, oh my goodness, yes — and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that’s interesting….So where shall I put you?_

The hat. Is talking to her. In her _mind_. 

The hat gives a rumble that could be a chuckle. _Child, I can do far more than speak to you within your mind. Hmm where to put you, where to put you… You suit the qualifications for Godric’s house well but no… you would be welcome in Helga’s house but I think you would not be satisfied there… Ravenclaw would suit you very well indeed but with wit as sharp as yours it’d better be_ “SLYTHERIN!”

Professor McGonagall pulled the hat off her head to the complete silence of the rest of the hall. A pin drop would have been too loud.

She hops down from the stool and lifts her head. Light applause comes from the Slytherin table, and when she checks, it’s the third years she sat with on the train. She grins at them as she makes her way to the table, sitting at the end closest to the teacher’s table. It isn’t until she sits down that the hall bursts into whispers. 

She doesn’t miss the fact that the third year boys were the only ones who clapped for her out of the entire hall. However, when she looks over to the Gryffindor table, Neville gives her a smile and a thumbs up.

Professor McGonagall clears her throat pointedly and continues the sorting, with Thomas, Dean going to Gryffindor.

The Sorting Ceremony ends with Zabini, Blaise sitting across from her at the Slytherin table.

The headmaster stands as Professor McGonagall removes the stool and the hat from the dais. He beams at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there. “Welcome,” he greets cheerfully. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!” 

He sits back down. The hall claps and cheers. 

Hariel doesn’t know whether to laugh or not. “Is he a bit mad?” she asks the table at large.

Across from her, Zabini snorts and Nott gives her a small smirk but neither of them answer.

Suddenly, the platters and plates and bowls in front of them fill with so much food that her eyes widen involuntarily. 

Zabini and Nott exchange glances but still don’t say anything. 

She watches as the other first years put food on their plates before she begins filling hers. All of the food looks rich and heavy, but she finds some appetizers and sides that will fill her without making her sick.

Some of the first years are chatting, Zabini and Nott are whispering to one another across from her, but none of them make an effort to include her and she keeps to herself, eating slowly.

She’s just popped a grape into her mouth when she hears Malfoy drawl, “Zabini? Didn’t your mother murder all seven of her husbands?” 

She nearly chokes on her grape as she feels Zabini’s magic flare dangerously. Her eyes snap to his and the small grin he had while talking to Nott is completely gone, his face made from stone.

The table around them hushes with uncertainty.

Zabini picks up a fork delicately. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business, Malfoy,” he begins loftily, “but no. My mother did not kill all seven of her husbands.”

Hariel chews her grape slowly and watches as Zabini visibly retreats back into himself. He continues eating stiffly, without looking up at her or at any of the other first years. Nott eyes him cautiously, as if he can also feel Zabini’s magic boiling right below the surface.

“But the rumors - “

“I’m sorry, Malfoy,” Hariel interrupts. She knows she’s going to pay for this later, but honestly, she couldn’t care less. “Didn’t your father kill children for fun at one point in his life?”

The other first years freeze completely. Hariel stares Malfoy down as he flushes.

“He was under the Imperius curse-”

“That’s what the courts decided, yes I’m aware,” she agrees pleasantly. 

Everyone at the table knows it’s not true, and none of them seem to be willing to argue about it with _her,_ of all people. Except Malfoy.

“I don’t expect _you_ to understand-”

“Why wouldn’t I?” She rests her arms on the table and leans forward. “I may have been isolated from the magical community for most of my childhood, but I’ve done a lot of reading this past month or so. Some of the spells he was known to cast… you have to mean them, don’t you?” They all know what spells she’s talking about. She tilts her head inquisitively. “How could they have made him cast them if he hadn’t meant them?” She lets that settle into their minds for a moment.

“I’ve heard the rumors about your father, too, Malfoy.” She grins sharply. “Next time, don’t bring up other people’s baggage if you don’t want yours aired out too. Especially when yours is worse than theirs.”

The air between them is hostile at best and she can see the other first years leaning away from them out of the corner of her eye. The moment is broken when she hears a sharp laugh from up the table. She glances over to see the entire second and third year sets watching them. 

Warrington is the one who laughed but Rosier is looking at her too, far more amused than she thinks he should be, considering his family is known for the same crimes. Pucey is smirking and Montague shoots her a wink down the table. All of the students between them look shocked, though whether it’s at her audacity or the third year boys’ reactions, she’s not sure.

She gives them a razor-sharp grin and then goes back to eating her grapes as though nothing had happened. 

Slowly, the rest of the students follow her lead. Chatter is much quieter for the rest of the meal and Malfoy doesn’t say another word.

Toward the end of the meal, when students are finishing off desserts, she feels a nudge against her foot under the table. Looking up, she sees Zabini staring at her intently. She raises an eyebrow at him.

He leans forward and she does the same. “You didn’t have to do that. Earlier.”

She stares at him for a moment, deciding how to respond. “I know I didn’t. But I wanted to. Mostly because he’s been getting on my nerves all day.” She smirks at him lightly. “Really, it was for my benefit, not yours.”

He doesn’t laugh and her smirk falters. 

“Listen. I’ll admit, you probably could have handled it. But you shouldn’t have had to. He shouldn’t have said that to you, especially not here. It was insensitive and rude and impolite.” She nods in Malfoy’s direction. “We’ve already gotten into it today. Parkinson and the two other boys were both there when it happened. None of them are going to think less of you because I decided to retaliate for earlier and embarrass Malfoy. I’m sure they were all expecting it, and if they weren’t, then they’re idiots.”

He studies her for a moment before nodding stiffly. He glances up the table. “What was with the third years? After that?”

“Oh, we met on the train. They know a little bit about my, uh, argument with Malfoy and Parkinson earlier today.” She shrugs. “They like me, I think. Or they’re interested in me anyway.”

He nods slowly before leaning away. She nods back at him before sitting straight again. 

“Ahem," Headmaster Dumbledore calls attention from the hall. "Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.” Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes flash in the direction of the red headed twins from that morning. “I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death. And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”

"He's not serious?" Hariel asks, dumbfounded.

"I have no idea," Zabini answers, looking mildly horrified.

Students have begun to make their way out of the hall. Two older Slytherins appear on either side of the table.

“Slytherin first years, follow us please!” came from the girl, a silver badge on her chest. 

Hariel takes a deep breath and stands. 


	5. Book 1: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahahhaa

“Slytherin first years, follow us please!” 

Hariel takes a deep breath and stands. 

The first years gather into a group and wait for the rest of the House to leave. They follow the prefects at the end of the lot. Hariel stays at the tail end of them all, unwilling to put her back to the other first years. The male prefect hangs behind her, presumably to make sure none of them wander off or get left behind. The female prefect leads the first years after the rest of the House, pointing out different landmarks as they take a winding path down into the dungeons of the castle.

It’s telling, Hariel thinks, how the upper years, and even some of the first years, relax more and more the further into the dungeons that they travel. Clearly, the rest of the school is set against them. The dungeons must be a refuge from scorn they receive elsewhere in the school.

By the time they reach the Slytherin common room, some of the older years are laughing and jostling each other in a way she knows they wouldn’t have dared to do in the Great Hall.

The female prefect stops the group before they can follow the rest of the house through the door way that appeared in the wall.

“The location of the Slytherin common room is not kept a secret from the rest of the school. However,” she smirks mischievously, “most students believe that the entrance to the dorms is behind the painting of Antoinette Lestrange.” She points to a painting down the hall a few feet. “Do your best not to inform them otherwise.”

Hariel barely catches herself from flinching as the woman in the painting looks up at the sound of her name. The paintings move. The paintings. They _ move. _ She’s shocked enough that she almost doesn’t notice as the prefect leads the first years through the stone arch and into the common room.

The Slytherin common room is quite possibly the most gorgeous room she’s ever been in. Despite the dungeons’ general dark and dank atmosphere, the common room is warm and cozy. There’s a fire crackling merrily in a large fireplace up against one wall, surrounded by cushy looking couches and arm chairs. There are tables of varying sizes spread out around the room. There are archways on either side of the entrance and another on the far wall of the room. One wall was completely black, a murky shade that seemed to shift and move. She stared at it for a moment before realizing it was a window looking out into the bottom of the lake when a school of fish swam by.

The rest of the Slytherin students were gathered around the room, seated in chairs and on couches, leaving only a handful open directly in front of the raised entrance.

“Have a seat first years,” the male prefect says, gesturing to the seats. The ten of them arrange themselves on the furniture with most of the girls on the couch and the boys plus Hariel in the chairs. Parkinson smirks at her as she sits in the last seat on the couch but Hariel ignores her, going for the large wingback armchair next to the couch. She sinks deep into the armchair, the cushions deceptively soft. She curls up comfortably as the boys arrange themselves around the girls, Nott and Zabini to the side of her and Malfoy and his goons on the other side of the couch.

A few other older students have joined the two prefects. One of the boys steps forward, raising his hand. The room falls silent almost immediately. 

“Slytherin,” he greets. “Welcome home.” The room bursts into cheers and applause and again the boy raises his hand for silence.

“Yes, yes, we’re all excited to be here. A few things before we all retire for the night. First things first, welcome first years. For those who don’t know, I’m Bastion Roy, seventh year prefect. This is my better half, Ismelda Murke.” The witch to his right waves to the room and there’s a wolf whistle from the back. There’s scattered laughter and Murke rolls her eyes at whoever it was. Roy ignores the byplay and continues. “The sixth year prefects are Niles Hanley and Hayley Quinten, and the new fifth year prefects are Terrance Higgs and Gemma Farley.” Another round of applause as the named fifth and six years wave to the room. “As you all know, you can come to any of us with any question or concern and we will do our best to assist you.”

Murke steps forward. “Starting next week, we’ll be posting the academic assistance roster on the announcement board. First years, fifth years, and seventh years get priority. All of you,” she looks pointedly toward the back, “are encouraged to take advantage of the resources provided with both the tutors and Slytherin House’s personal library. Do not let your grades drop. As most of you know, Emma Vainer graduated last year. This year’s quidditch captain is Marcus Flint. I’ve been asked to inform you all that tryouts for second years and up are going to be held this Saturday and results will be posted Monday. Happy, Flint?” She glares at a stocky boy leaning against the wall at the front of the room. He nods.

“That should be all for now. You’re dismissed. First years, stay there.” One more cheer goes up around the room and the group dissipates, most getting up and leaving through mirrored arches on either side of the entryway. The sixth year prefects joined them at the bottom of the steps.

“Hello first years, welcome to Slytherin. As Bastian said, I’m Hayley and this is Niles. We’re the sixth year prefects. I’m sure you all know that the fifth and seventh years are in their OWL and NEWT years, so if you have any issues, come to us before you go to them. If we’re unavailable, you can go to them, but try to find us before you do so. If you feel you have a problem that we can’t help you with, Professor Snape’s office hours will be posted on the announcement board before the start of classes.”

“Now that that’s out of the way,” Hanley cuts in, “we’re going to tell you the House rules.” He looks at them all sharply. “These rules are to be followed at all times. They are rules, not guidelines, and any infraction will result in punishment. No matter who it’s from.” He looks each and every one of them in the eye. “Rule number one: your house is your family. While you attend this school, while you sleep in the same dorms, attend the same classes, you will be one unit. If something affects one of you, it affects all of you. If someone is struggling, help them. If you can’t help them, find someone who can.”

“Rule number two,” Quinten continues, “what happens in the dungeons stays in the dungeons. This ties into rule one. I don’t care if some of you don’t like each other. I don’t care about your family’s relationship with another in this castle. Outside of these rooms, you all are best friends. You  _ will _ present a united front between you and the rest of our house.”

“Rule three is about our academic standards,” Hanley tells them. “We demand excellence. We have topped the academic ranks alongside the Ravenclaws since the founding of our school. You  _ will _ try your hardest in your classes. If you are struggling with the coursework, ask for help from either one of your year mates or one of the tutors from the academic assistance roster. If you see someone else struggling, help them.”

“Rule four: under no circumstance are there to be non-Slytherins in the Slytherin common room or dorms. Punishment for breaking this rule is severe. Let the school believe Lestrange’s portrait is the entrance to the common room.”

“Last but not least…” Hanley grins at them. “Don’t get caught. Slytherins are known for bending or ignoring rules, but you’d be hard pressed to find evidence of it. If getting caught is unavoidable, blame a non-Slytherin. Frame them if you have to but do not implicate a fellow housemate.”

Quinten rolls her eyes. “Curfew for third years and under is nine, eleven for everyone above that. You’ll have tonight and tomorrow to get settled in. Breakfast starts at seven, lunch at one, and dinner at seven thirty. Saturday afternoon, we’ll be showing you around the school and take you to where your classrooms, professors’ offices, the library, and the hospital wing are. We’ll meet here at two. The dorms are through the halls on either side of the common room entrance. Girls to the right and boys to the left. Bathrooms are the first door on the left. Dorms go by year, so the first years are at the front and the seventh years are at the back. All of the dorms are already assigned and labeled so you should have no trouble finding your beds.”

Hanley cuts in. “Normally we do two to a room but since there’s an odd number of each of you, Potter, Zabini, you each get your own rooms, you lucky bastards.” Hanley wacks him in the arm but he just grins at them.

Malfoy says something under his breath and Parkinson complains, “Why do  _ they _ get their own rooms and we don’t? That’s so unfair!”

Hanley’s eyes narrow at her, but it’s Quinten that says, “We go alphabetically. They’re names are the highest in the alphabet. It’s nothing personal, it’s just the way it is.”

“But she’s a half-blood and he’s a foreigner!”

“Excuse you,” Zabini says sharply. “My father was Irish and he got me citizenship. Just because I have a foreign accent doesn’t mean I don’t have just as much right to be here as you. And even if she’s a half-blood, the Potter name still carries more weight than Parkinson ever has. I’ve heard of her family even in Italian high society. I’ve never heard of you.”

Parkinson stares at him for a moment, as though shocked that he would talk back to her, and Hanley takes that moment to say, “Your prejudices don’t matter. The matter is settled. And if we hear one mention of you lot arguing like this elsewhere in the castle, you  _ all _ will be in trouble, do you understand me? Rule number two: outside these rooms you lot are best friends.” He glares at Parkinson and Zabini until they both nod. “Good. You’re all dismissed. It’s past curfew so you’ll go straight to your  _ assigned  _ rooms. Good night.”

Both sixth year prefects nod curtly and then leave.

The first years split off, the girls going one direction and the boys going the other. Hariel’s name is engraved on a plaque next to the second door on the right, next to the room labeled  _ Millicent Bulstrode _ and  _ Tracey Davis _ .

The door clicks open under her touch and as she enters her room, she hears Parkinson sniff and say, “At least I get to room with the only other pureblood in our year.”

Hariel just rolls her eyes and shuts the door behind her, locking it shut with her magic. She studies the room before her. It’s bigger than she thought it’d be, almost twice the size of Dudley’s second bedroom. Like the common room, it’s warm and cozy, dark wood flooring and soft green walls. There’s a fireplace directly across from the doorway that flares up when she steps fully into the room. A long, cushy looking couch sits in front of it. There are two four poster beds on opposite sides of the room, both bigger than her twin sized bed at the Dursleys’. There are two desks and matching, intricately carved wardrobes. Her backpack and Hedwig’s cage are laying in the middle of the room, presumably to allow her to pick her side. She picks up her things and decides to take the bed to the right of the door.

She takes her trunk out of her bag and pulls out her uniforms and school supplies. The uniforms she hangs up in the wardrobe and the supplies go straight back into her backpack, along with her once again shrunken trunk. 

It’s better to have everything she needs with her in case she needs to make a break for it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo hi guys! I know I said it totally wouldn't take that long to get the next chapter done and then disappeared for two months buuuuut things started happening and kept happening and now my entire life is in chaos. I've had this written up for a while but I wanted the chapter to be longer. I feel bad leaving this for so long though because I have no idea when I'll have the time or motivation to write again. So here's a short chapter to tide you over until I get time to write. It's not much, but I hope you liked it anyway.


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